


Appropriate

by iamee



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dirty Talk (Sort of), Harry Hart Lives, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5727337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamee/pseuds/iamee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggys's trying very hard to get the appropriate reactions and answers out of Harry. It works a lot better than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appropriate

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm done pretending I'm over this ship. And as usual I find fic lying around on my computer. So here goes.

**Appropriate**

1.

"Ya were my first wet dream, ya know?" Eggsy says over the clinking of dishes and if Harry were any other person he'd drop the soapy plate. As it is he just puts it down to pick up the next one.

"Peculiar choice..."

"Not really, no." Eggsy shrugs, smile not yet mischievous but well on its way. "Give yerself some credit, Harry, ya were kinda fit back then."

"...given the circumstances." Harry finishes, turning to meet Eggsy's grin. "And 'kinda fit'? Really?"

"Not that bad now either. Jus' take the compliment, man."

"I'll call you a cab. You shouldn't be driving with that vision."

Eggsy snorts and goes back to drying off glasses.

 

2.

The problem is that Eggsy gets bored easily. And when he gets bored he invents games. The latest seemingly being to make everyone around him as uncomfortable as a string of words allows. Harry doesn't need the daily increased look of exasperation on Merlin's face or the faint yet constant blush on Lancelot's cheek to quietly thank God for a new mission.

He should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

They're walking away from a nice villa in Southern Italy, as slowly as their cover allows and as quickly as the knowledge of a timer connected to a considerable amount of explosives will inevitably make you.

"When's the point where it stops?" Eggsy asks, breathier than usual, their arms brushing ever so slightly with every step. "This stuff getting ya all worked up, I mean?"

"Do you think this is the right time?"

"I'm serious, Harry." There's colour on Eggsy's cheeks and his eyes are glazed just a bit and somewhere in the basement, still mere steps away from their feet, a countdown has reached zero. "I've been horny for the last six months and I need ta know when it stops."

Instead of an answer, Harry pulls him to the ground as the detonation shakes the estate, a bright, beautiful burst of fire licking up into the sky and shuddering back down. Thirty seconds left until extraction. He can hear Eggsy moan softly into the grass, flakes of ashes settling in his messed up hair. Maybe he'll tell him later that it never stops, but he doubts it.

 

3.

"How many people hav'ya fucked on honeypot missions?"

"Good to see you too, Eggsy." Harry remarks without looking up from the newspaper. 

Two weeks since Italy, it's not exactly a surprise that the boy is getting restless. To be perfectly frank, if anything Harry expected this to happen a lot sooner. 

"Jus' answer the question, man."

"A gentleman---"

Eggsy rolls his eyes and spreads his arms as he sits down on the edge of Harry's desk.

"Yeah yeah, no kissing and telling, got it, but I ain't asking for dirty details, only a rough number." His eyebrows move up and Harry can just so force down a sound that's both fondness and resignation. "Unless ya feel like sharin'."

Harry gives up on hiding behind the paper and tilts his head to face Eggsy.

"Any reason for the sudden interest?"

"Oi, always with the counter-questions, Harry." Eggsy's shifting and Harry becomes too aware of the mere inch of air separating his own hand from a thigh. He can't be sure he's imagining the warmth Eggsy's radiating. 

"All I wanna know is, is it common or not?" Eggsy's leaning back a bit, legs falling open easily, the margin between touching and not touching decreasing to nothing but the duration of a heartbeat. "I mean, I gotta find out sooner or later if I hav'ta take it up the arse every other week. 'm being curious, is all."

Harry inhales carefully, very much not imagining Eggsy spread out on a bed, bend over a desk, shoved up against a wall, begging some stranger to give it to him. It's the 'stranger' part that's troublesome.

"Less common than you'd think."

A smile goes over Eggy's features like he's being right about something Harry doesn't even know about. "Cheers, mate." He slips off the table and is almost out of the door before he turns and gives Harry a wink. "And ya wouldn't send me off without some practise, would ya?"

Harry can't wait to walk away from another explosion.

 

4.

"You never told me about that wet dream." Harry says in his ear and Eggsy pretty nearly chokes on a bite of bruschetta.

The lady next to him at the dinner table frowns as him as far as Botox allows when he raises his napkin to his lips, murmuring into the mic at his sleeve.

"Timing, 'Arry."

"I've been thinking a lot about what you've said regarding your constant level of arousal." 

Eggsy's sure it's showing that he's getting a little hot above the collar, a cough into the napkin and slowly he's getting the whole table's attention. 

"Are you hard right now, Eggsy? I bet you are. Should I have assigned you a target to let off a little steam?" Harry pauses and Eggsy lets out a shuddering breath, eyes focused on the hand he's flexing just above the tablecloth in a conscious effort not to palm himself through his tailored trousers. "Or would you have preferred I took matters into my own hands?"

His fingers shake as he picks up the fork again, stabbing an innocent piece of tomato under the scrutinising glare of Mrs Botox. 

"I think we should start with something light. A little oral exercise, perhaps? Under this very table while you keep on making small talk, which, by the by, you should. You're attracting unwanted attention."

Another cough, he manages to mouth "and whose fault is that", shifts on the chair like there's any way to comfortably sit with a hard-on.

Harry's laugh rings in his ears, tingles down his spine and coils hotly in his stomach, making it hard to breathe at all.

"I'll take that as a yes. Now, how many fingers do you think you need before I can bend you over the bathroom counter in, let's say four and a half minutes?"

He can actually feel everyone's relief when he's excusing himself from the table, inwardly cursing Harry and his smug face, perfectly filed away in his brain for times of need. But the timing is off today. Not like he's complaining. Far from it. 

After all, the nice thing about making up games is that Harry is so good at winning.

 

**End**


End file.
